


Supply Chain Problems

by Oparu (USSJellyfish)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mentions of other canon couples - Freeform, Minor Alphonso "Mack" Mackenzie/Yo Yo Rodriguez, Minor Lance Hunter/Bobbi Morse, Minor Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26656846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/USSJellyfish/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: Melinda and Phil have been going through condoms faster than Jemma's carefully calculated algorithm believes the base should be going through them. It's really throwing off inventory.
Relationships: Melinda May & Jemma Simmons, Phil Coulson/Melinda May
Comments: 57
Kudos: 123





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KatTrustNo1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatTrustNo1/gifts), [MultiFandomMadness20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MultiFandomMadness20/gifts).



> Absolute fluff where May is an awful troll, because she is. 
> 
> For Kat and Nicole, thanks for all your hard work in photoshop, darlings. 
> 
> Thanks to Tina for all her support.

The first time they finish a box, they're in her room, in the shower together. Phil grabs the last condom and rips it open with his teeth while she runs her fingers over him, teasing him harder as the spray pours down. 

Second time they're in the storeroom, way down in the empty, boring levels of the base and she straddles him, pulling him close as she grinds on top of him. He slides inside of her, using the last one because it's just been a day and Mace's meetings are really long and Phil keeps touching her under the table, stroking her thighs until she's desperately hot and they have to take inventory assignments just to get some time alone. Down here, no one hears her scream, and the scattered condom wrappers from their first two rounds rustle when his foot hits them. 

Maybe it's greedy, but they need this. There's plenty left.

Melinda didn't see what happened to the last row of box three, but box four was gone over a long weekend when everyone else went to see family or friends and they volunteered to be the lighthouse keepers together. They couldn't use his office, it's not his right now, but it had been awhile since they'd been up in the cockpit of the Zephyr and she'd forgotten how good the angle is when he sits in the chair and she rests her knees on either side. She's always so wet after he goes down on her and he's so hard after listening to her orgasm that it's a perfect match. 

And the last one from that box. Too bad, really, the ones with the blue and gold wrappers really had a good feel to them. 

Box five disappears quickly because it's cold that week and they don't have a lot of off base missions, and Daisy's team is on base so there's just more affection to go around. Two of their favorite hiding places have people in them and May's bunk shares a wall with Mack's so that's not an option Friday night. They sneak into the emergency elevator, no one knows it's there and she balances in the corner while he holds her up and it's a little uncomfortable because the elevators cold and there's metal against her ass but there's something carefree about being in such a hurry that she doesn't even take off her bra. 

Maybe it's just the honeymoon phase, but it wasn't like this during her actual honeymoon and that wasn't on a secret underground base full of their very close coworkers. Something's shifted, and true to their problems, they don't talk about it. They are friends in public, co workers, old partners, and they even pretend to be annoyed being stuck on the supply run but it's several days alone in the Zephyr, whatever will they find to do...

"We just requisitioned six boxes of condoms," Simmons complains, brow furrowed in that very proper level blood orange or whatever her title is nowadays. "We had previously been going through them rather slowly, one or two boxes a month but for some reasons over the previous forty-seven days, we've nearly tripled normal consumption."

"The base is pretty full at the moment." Melinda checks the gauze pads, and the shampoo, her face neutral. "Must be having so many people on base."

"It's full this week, yes, but we've had several holidays, and teams out on missions, and it just doesn't follow anticipated usage cycles. Fitz and I worked very hard on that algorithm." 

"Perhaps that's not the only thing you've been putting in extra hours about?" 

Jemma turns bright pink behind her clipboard. "That's hardly relevant to the current discussion."

"You using some other method?" Melinda takes a break, reaching for her tea. "Bobbi made Hunter have a vasectomy years ago, so we can't blame them."

"Even though they are on again with enthusiasm at the moment."

"You should see them in the gym."

"I'd rather not."

Melinda shrugs. "Suit yourself. I like it when she towers over him and--"

Jemma's blush deepens, reddening her neck. "There's no accounting for what you find entertaining."

"Guess not." Picking up her clipboard again, she works her way calmly through the rest of the hygiene products, counting and marking them off. 

"Still, it is surprising that we went through so many so quickly." 

"Maybe Daisy's seeing someone."

"No, she's in one of her 'I'll be alone forever' phases."

"Mack and Yo-Yo?"

"Enthusiastic consumers of prophylactics, however, I accounted for them when I ordered the last batch." Jemma sighs over the box again. "Until you and Coulson return, there are four condoms available for the whole base."

"Put at least one in your pocket," Melinda teases. "Don't want to be caught out."

"Oh Fitz and I--"

"Don't believe in using two methods of protection?" 

Shaking her head, Jemma pockets two of them. She looks at her boots, then back at Melinda. "He lasts a lot longer wearing one."

Smiling, she nods and goes back to inventory. "It's nice, isn't it?" 

"I don't know how you can do it."

"Do what?"

"Be so calm when you're surrounded by everyone else's raging hormones and juvenile romances." 

"Juvenile romances can be a lot of fun."

"I suppose, still," Jemma pauses, then drums up her courage. "Haven't you at least thought about--"

"Thought about what?" Melinda asks, all innocent and calm as a lotus flower. Jemma is so much easier to torture than Daisy. Daisy would have gone for the jugular, Jemma is being nice. 

"Maybe having a little less-than-juvenile romance of your own?"

Turning her head, Melinda frowns. "With whom?"

"With whom?" Jemma repeats, scoffing. "With whom indeed."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You set next to him at every staff meeting, eat dinner with him at least five nights a week and you're always seen coming in and out of each other's rooms."

"We play cards."

"In the morning?"

Melinda keeps her voice level, and her body still. Everyone believes you when your body is calm. "Sometimes we do tai chi."

"In your room?"

"We move the bed."

"Why not the gym?"

"It's taken. Morning calisthenics."

"One of the store rooms?"

"It's cold and my knee gets stiff."

Jemma holds her arms over her clipboard. "You mean to tell me every single moment you and Coulson have been seen together at odd times, or in odd places, has a perfectly innocent explanation?"

"What, you think we're sleeping together?"

"Yes!"

Melinda laughs, shaking her head as if it's the funniest thing she's heard in years. "Really? Me and Coulson?"

"It's the only thing that makes logical sense. The only factor missing from our calculations is the two of you."

"So not only are we sleeping together, we're single handedly responsible for the condom shortage?" 

"Three handed-ly, or however you'd like to define it, yes."

Melinda sets down her clipboard and shrugs. "You'll just have to add the question to our next lie detector test. Agent May, Agent Coulson, just how much have you been fucking like cadets."

"May--" Jemma stumbles, "I didn't mean it like that."

"I'm not offended," Melinda says, tightening her muscles in her legs slowly in order so she has something to concentrate on. "Mostly amused that you think Coulson and I have such an interesting sex life. How many would we have to be going through just between the two of us to throw off your calculations?"

"At least six a week, if not more."

Whistling, Melinda shakes her head. "Well, if Coulson ever gets up the nerve to ask me out, your algorithm will be the first one I tell."

"May--"

"It's fine, Jemma, I'm touched, he would be too."

By the end of inventory, Jemma's apologized at least three more times and Melinda almost feels bad. _Almost_.

Coulson meets her on the ramp to the Zephyr and they take off. Of course, with Jemma right there she couldn't get either of the last two condoms and it's three whole days getting the Zephyr stocked at the various supply depots and it's just so boring that they give in. It's just one moment of weakness and, yes, it does feel incredible to just let go and not worry about responsibility.

They can't get pregnant anyway. That's long past. She's been dead, he's been dead, they've been shot, stabbed, irradiated and they're just past that part of life. Why even worry about it? Their chances have to be infinitesimal.

Phil chuckles a little and wonders if they shouldn't come up with another method, but she has better uses for his mouth.

So going without stops being a stolen moment of weakness and becomes a habit. It's even easier to slip into dark corners and strip off each other's clothes and Simmons' algorithm returns to being accurate. No mess, no fuss, no need to worry about collecting condom wrappers and hiding them so they're just friends who like early morning tai chi or fell asleep watching Star Wars for the tenth time. 

It's the absence of her requirements for other supplies that she notices first. She doesn't reach for the bottle of ibuprofen for headaches one week, and she doesn't touch the box of tampons in the back of her bathroom. In fact, that box sits there for a month, and then another, and Phil can't stop playing with her breasts and his mouth feels divine, but they're sore and overly sensitive and they've never really felt like that.

It's weird. So weird that she might just have to talk to Jemma about why she's so hungry and seems like she always has to pee and her breasts haven't been this sore since she bruised them both on the obstacle course second year at the Academy. 

Can't be related. Has nothing to do with the condoms they didn't use on the Zephyr, or stopped using because they just got comfortable with the feel of each other, and that sense of belonging together.

She stares at the calendar, looking back and trying to remember the last time she actually touched the slightly dusty box of tampons in her bathroom. 

Huh.

"Honey?"

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda and Phil ruin another part of Jemma's inventory, and deal with the potential consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> huge thanks to everyone who asked for more. Here's a chapter of Phil's POV and there's another chapter from Melinda's POV next (I'm posting it now). 
> 
> You're the best. (so is Tina!)

"Honey?"

Phil shuts his book, keeping his fingers in place. "What is it?"

She walks out of the bathroom, pensive. Melinda only touches her hair like that when she's worried. "When did I get my period last, do you remember?" 

Phil sets down his book, he won't be getting back to that tonight. "Were we on the Zephyr?" They made good use of the showers there, but that was several weeks ago. They haven't been alone on a long range Zephyr mission for a while now. 

"Must have been." She stands next to the bed, removes her shirt and her bra, then pulls on an old t-shirt. Me;inda brushes her hair, smoothing it out, and she pulls it back over her shoulders, then in front of her, running her fingers through it. "Do you ever feel old?"

"Old?' He scoots back on the bed, leaning against the wall. "Standing next you, the immortal goddess, sure." 

Rolling her eyes, she shakes her head. "I'm not."

"You're beautiful."

"Thank you but--"

It takes him a moment when she stops talking, then he gets it. "You think you missed your period because you're getting old?"

"Isn't that what happens?"

He reaches for her hands, taking one, then the other. "We are getting older, I've got a few grey hairs in random places I'd rather not think about too much."

"So you think it could be that?"

"No, Melinda, that's not-" he pauses, he doesn't know a lot about menopause, but he's heard a little. "Do you have any other symptoms? Hot flashes, night sweats, irritability."

"Ha."

"Other than the usual."

She squeezes his fingers and moves closer, resting her head against his cheek. "No, nothing like that."

"So-"

"It's probably stress."

"It's probably stress," he agrees. "That's happened before.."

"But I'm not doing anything particularly stressful, it's just the team and training and--" 

"And the director, and congress, and inventory."

That at least makes her chuckle a little. "Inventory's terribly stressful." 

"Isn't it?" He touches her hair, brushes it back her eyes. "I know it wears me out."

"I have been sleeping really well lately," she teases, pulling herself closer. 

"You have." She hasn't said anything about being tried. She's just good at making use of the time they have to sleep. She's always been good at that, out when she hits the pillow. "I thought it was just good company."

"I like the company."

"Me too."

He touches her face, holding her cheek. "We are getting older, I know I feel it, and you must, even if it's not on your face, and that's okay. Age means experience, adventures, I kind like the idea of spending a few more decades with you."

"Just a few?"

"At least four, five maybe, six if FitzSimmons invent some fun new organs."

Melinda smiles, then kisses his hand, he pulls her closer and they meet, kissing gently, then hungrily, and it only takes a little nibbling on her neck before she's astride his lap, pulling off the shirt she just put on. 

Her breasts have been sore, sensitive to his touch more than usual, and it barely takes a lick before she's gasping for him to touch the other. His shirt follows hers to the floor, then she raises up enough to remove her pants, and he eases her panties off her hips. She helps him up, undressing him while his hands wander up her thighs. His thumb brushes her sex, then strokes her clit. Melinda moans, burying her face in his neck, and she's already wet, swollen and sensitive. He's barely even started touching her and she's already so turned on.

He's flattered, and it's hot, really hot, but it makes him think. It nags at him as they keep kissing, then he ponders as he plays with her breasts. They sit heavy in his palms as she strokes him, teasing him erect. She's needy. Aching, and he's just as desperate to be inside of her where it's warm and tight and slick--

Really slick, wonderfully wet, and she moans, full of pleasure. He thrusts up, tilting his hips and she finds an angle before she takes over, rises up and down with her powerful legs. 

She's deliciously wet, and enjoying every instant of it, and that's not what he's heard about menopause. 

"Melinda?"

"Hmmm?" 

He thumbs her clit, but pauses, looking for her eyes. "Menopause is supposed to make things drier, maybe make sex uncomfortable."

"Don't stop," she begs, tilting forward towards his hand. 

Stroking her again, he wonders if it's occurred to her that pregnancy would make her more sensitive, that it would make her breasts sore and heavy. 

"I don't think this is menopause. It might be stress."

Panting into his neck, she teeters on the edge, nearly at orgasm. He toys with her clit, circling and alternating pressure, and she's so close that he should stop talking.

"Or you're pregnant," he says aloud. He didn't mean to. That was supposed to just be a thought and she bucks, either from orgasm or shock, or some mix of both. She tightens around him and his own release is quick, almost an afterthought. 

"No," she says, starting to pull away., but he holds her, keeps her on top of him, stays inside. 

"You're more sensitive, more responsive than you usually are, and that's not menopause, that's the other thing." He touches her face again, kissing her cheek. "We should, you should take a test."

"Phil--"

"Hey, it's just a test."

"It's a waste of time."

"I'll feel better, you can tell me I'm wrong after you'd peed on it."

"Charming."

"I try." He leans in, touching her face again. She doesn't believe him but she's too unsettled to argue. "If-"

"When-" she corrects him.

"If it's negative, we can try to find ways to ease your stress." 

She wraps her arms around her chest, then kisses his shoulder. "Thanks."

"I'll be right back." He cleans himself up, washing his hands in the bathroom and wiping himself off before pulling back on his pajamas. Melinda's still sitting on the bed, wrapped in a sheet, naked and gorgeous with her hair sticking to the sweat on her skin. She looks at him, not quite smiling, too tentative. "Keep the bed warm."

That at least gets a smile. 

He heads for the lab. The base is quiet this time of night, just the graveyard shift and a few people in the kitchen. There's no one to see him in the lab. Pregnancy tests would be with diagnostic tools, one of the cabinets. Simmons would store all the urine tests together. He opens a drawer, ketone tests, bacteria, a few he doesn't recognize, and a neat row of pregnancy tests. He grabs one and is about to shut the drawer, but grabs another. Melinda will never believe one test. 

"Coulson, can I help you find something?" She's still in her work clothes, so Simmons has to be working late. May said she was asking questions about the two of them, wondering if they were together. Look innocent.

What could he be looking at in this drawer that isn't a pregnancy test? 

"Do you have a topical antifungal agent?" Look sheepish and she won't ask more. He keeps his hands down, lets the tests slide up his sleeve so they won't be noticed. 

"Those are in the cabinet, the cerulean tab is for creams." 

"Right, logical." He opens the cabinet, follows her color coding until he finds what he asked for. Could always be athlete's foot, or some other weird itching. Simmons won't ask too many questions about that. "Does color coding pose a problem with colorblind agents?"

"Nathanson is colorblind, actually, so is Agent Olivera, so we had to start adding the letters on the colored bars."

"I see that, now that you mention it." He smiles. "That's clever."

"Do you need any other advice for your problem?"

"Not so far." He tucks the cream into his pocket, letting the pregnancy tests fall in afterwards. "I'll let you know if it doesn't go away."

"Might take up to a week."

"Noted." He starts to leave, but makes himself wait, be polite. "Thanks, Simmons, sleep well when you're done."

"Thank you, you as well." She turns her attention back to her computer. He's almost out the door when she adds, "Goodnight to Agent May as well." 

"If I see her," he says, smiling innocently.

"Of course, if you see her." 

He walks back, hands in his pockets, not hurried. Phil even stops in the kitchen, grabbing some cookies, a carton of milk and a paper cup. Just having some trouble sleeping. Melinda has her pajamas back on, and she sits on the edge of the bed, hands on her thighs. 

"Hey."

"I drank two glasses of water."

"You didn't have too."

"Didn't want to have performance anxiety." She stands up, arms still wrapped around her chest. Dropping her hands, she looks down before she can meet his eyes. "You coming with me?"

"If you need moral support, sure," he teases, handing her the paper cup. "Only need a little, I'll even do the test part if you want."

She holds the cup and gives him that look. 

"When it's over you can tell me how wrong I am." He kisses her forehead. "It'll be fine."

She disappears into the bathroom, but leaves the door open a little. He takes that as the invitation to keep talking. 

"You ever do this before?"

"Several times a year for SHIELD." 

Phil laughs and opens the milk, taking a sip. "Take this kind of test." She and Andrew were talking about trying before Bahrain and he never really found out how far they got. 

"No, never, I've always been careful. Bought some, once, kept them under the sink for a while, but we never got there." She flushes, then washes her hands. "Too careful for Simmons' predictions of inventory." Melinda emerges from the bathroom, paper cup in hand. "I hate this."

"I know." He opens the wrappers on both of the tests, taking out the little strips of cardboard and offering his hand to her for the cup. "They don't look like much, do they?"

"I thought they had words."

"Fancy ones do, these are the more medical kind." He dunks them both in and sets it on the nightstand. Melinda hovers beside him for a moment, then starts pacing. 

"Cookies on the dresser."

"Thanks." She lifts one up but can't eat it. "How long?"

"Five minutes." He pulls both out, balances them on top of the cup and doesn't look at the lines starting to turn dark. Phil sets a timer on his phone and sets that on the nightstand. "Longest five minutes we'll go through for a while, huh."

"Understatement."

"Too bad we're nervous."

Melinda breaks part of the cookie off and eats it, pacing back and forth from the door to the wall. "You have something in mind?"

"I've got a few ideas." He stands up, leaning on the wall next to the bathroom, watching her pace. 

"I--"

"I know, I'm teasing."

"Phil--" She stops, hands falling to her sides. "What do we do?"

"Wait four more minutes and a handful of seconds."

"That's not what I mean."

"You don't think it's going to be positive."

"It's not."

"Then there's nothing to worry about." 

She doesn't believe him, which means she's thought about it and maybe this other thing is more of a possibility than she's admitted to herself. "Why is it taking so long?"

"Fitz would say it's relativity."

"Simmons would say it's karma," she says, picking up a cookie again. 

"They're good."

"I can't."

"Don't tell me you're nauseated."

"Not funny." 

She starts to pace again and he stops her, takes her hand. 

"Come here."

"Phil."

"You know what's about three minutes long?"

"Eternity?"

"A song." He pulls her in, and there's no music, and she hates dancing, but she hates it much less than she hates waiting so it distracts her a little. The cookie's still in her hand and he takes a bite before settling her in his arms and swaying. "I wasn't going to ever going to do this."

"Neither was I after--" She breaks off and he kisses her. 

"It's all right."

"It's really not." 

Holding her shoulders, he rests his head against hers. "Just breathe."

Her hands wrap tighter around him, digging into his back. "Maybe it was worth it."

"What?"

"All the fun we had. I'm trying to decide if it's worth this." 

"I think so," he says, humming a little as he sways again. 

"You would. You didn't have to pee in a cup."

"I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be, I- I don't know how to face this, but don't be sorry. I'm glad it's you."

"Me too." 

She pulls back, smirking. "Proud of yourself?"

"No, May, just, you'd be good at this."

"I will not."

"Yes, yes, you will be great." His eyes sting a little and he smiles, really smiles and he's given too much away. He's not saying would anymore. This is happening, whether she wants to believe it or not.

"Phil."

"You'd be a great mom."

"You want--" and she stops because the timer goes off. He takes a step and she freezes, standing so still that she could have been switched off. 

Phil shuts off the alarm and lifts up the two little paper sticks. Each of them have two dark lines, unmistakably positive. He holds them up and Melinda hurries over. She takes them out of his hand, staring as her mouth falls open. 

She mutters something in Mandarin that he doesn't catch and she stares at both of the tests before handing them back, fingers shaking. He sets them down, and reaches for her, pulling her in close. 

"It's all right."

She takes a breath, trembling, then another, holding him tight. "I love you," she whispers into his chest. 

He strokes her hair, then kisses her head. "If it helps, I think it's good."

"You're thrilled."

"I'm not."

"You have no poker face," she complains, burying her eyes in his shirt. "You want this."

"I do., but May, I wouldn't never--"

"I know, and god, that makes it hard." 

"Or easy."

"Easy," she repeats, still holding him like a lifeline. "Sure, it's easy."

"It could be." 

She looks up, kissing him softly. "Maybe it is." 

"I love you," he whispers. 

"You can't hide that either, you have nine different tells."

"Good."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Melinda confesses everything and asks for Jemma's help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my little add on got so long it made sense as two parts. Thanks again, you're the most wonderful readers.

Setting the third pregnancy test next to the other two, Melinda shuts her eyes. Maybe she's dreaming. She'll wake up in Radcliff's lab, with Aida standing over her. She's just been dead, nothing to worry about. When she opens her eyes, they're still positive, even the one she just took this morning because they're supposed to be most accurate in the morning. 

Staring at them isn't going to make them change, and a fourth one won't change anything other than Jemma's' careful inventory. She has to confront it, and there's only one way to do that. 

Fortunately, Simmons is one of the few people who gets up as early as she does. Melinda leaves Phil asleep with a note on the nightstand. She'll bring him coffee when she gets back, because he'll probably still be asleep. Especially after she wore him out because having sex was easier than thinking last night. 

It would be easier now, and apparently they won't have to worry about protection for months, but she needs to get a professional opinion.

And apologize.

Maybe start with that.

She stops by the kitchen, starts the coffee, and while she watches the kettle boil for tea it slowly occurs to her that the smell is more objectionable than it usually is, and somehow more acute. She thought it was just a new blend and Phil was experimenting but...no, it's worse, stronger and more astringent and she shuts the container of beans. 

Focusing on her tea, she makes a cup for Jemma, and even the scent of that dreadful black English tea Jemma and Fitz love so much bothers her a little. It's probably just her psyching herself out, or maybe she didn't notice? She's been distracted by her team, and Phil.

Mostly Phil.

She smiles a little at her tea and pours some milk into Jemma' cup. Mugs in hand, she heads into the lab.

"Good morning, Agent May," Jemma says over her computer monitor. "What's this?"

Handing over the tea, Melinda wraps her hands around her own mug, focusing on the warmth. "A peace offering."

"Have you committed some grievance I don't know about?"

Meeting her eyes, Melinda studies her face, looking for signs of emotion. It's still early, and there's only warmth and confusion, not anger. "I'm fairly certain you know about it."

"Is this a confession?"

"Yes."

Jemma takes a sip of her tea and her eyebrows fly upwards in surprise. "To what in particular?"

"Throwing off your algorithms and taking three pregnancy tests without authorization."

Pressing her lips together, Jemma slides off her stool. "Three?"

"I wasn't sure."

"Then you'll need a blood test, come over here." She starts setting up for a blood draw, barely hiding a smile. She's just as bad as Phil, perhaps worse. "You know, they usually don't get less positive the more you take."

"I'm aware of that now."

"Coulson took two for you last night."

"He did."

"And you took the third this morning?"

"I heard morning was better."

"Ah yes, the internet is a great source of medical knowledge." 

Rolling her eyes, Melinda pulls her arm free of her sweatshirt. "I wasn't ready to ask."

"I'm glad you are now."

She waits for the I told you so, but she only gets a little tourniquet on her upper arm and Jemma's careful search for a vein. 

"Assuming you are ready to talk about it."

"What's there to talk about?"

Jemma takes a breath, looking at her as if she's some particularly interesting specimen. "It depends on how you feel about it. I can only imagine how I'd feel in your position. Thrilled, terrified, overwhelmed, perhaps mildly apologetic that I lied to my friend."

"Only mildly?"

Smiling a little, Jemma pauses with the needle. "This will sting a little, but I only need one vial." She stabs the needle into Melinda's vein and the little vial fills with dark blood. "I know it's hard to talk about relationships."

"Every one we've both been in has ended badly. Not saying anything seemed safer, somehow."

"I understand that." Jemma pulls the needle out and holds a bit of gauze over the wound. "Hold that for a moment." Their fingers touch and Melinda squeezes her hand. 

"Your face was incredible."

"I couldn't believe you could keep a straight face while insisting you weren't sleeping with Coulson. Everyone knows you're sleeping together. Daisy and Fitz have caught you on the security cameras, Mack hears you through the wall, Yo-Yo says you sneak into the Zephyr, Bobbi's seen the bruises on your neck in the shower and even Hunter claims he's heard you in the armoury after hours."

Chuckling, Melinda meets her eyes. "No so subtle then, were we?"

"It was rather juvenile of you."

"You said it might be fun."

"I hope it has been fun. I hope you're both blissfully happy because I can't think of anyone who deserves that more in the world, any world."

Pulling her sweatshirt back on, Melinda zips it up. "You mean that?"

"You've orbited each other for decades, Fitz and I drove each other mad over a year, but the two of you- I can't possibly imagine what that's been like. No wonder you were so enthusiastic with your lovemaking."

Melinda raises her eyebrows this time. There are worse words for it. 

"Of course, I was worried you'd broken up when inventory stopped being off, but it appears you made other choices."

"I didn't think we needed to--"

"Ah." Jemma pipettes some blood out of the vial and then adds it to a machine Melinda doesn't recognize. "If you'd felt like asking, I could have told you that your ovarian reserve is excellent, considering your age. Did your mother have you later in life?"

"She was almost forty."

"Then it's probably a gift of genetics, among your many, I would say." 

She smiles, grateful, but watching the machine is torture, even though she knows what it's going to say.

"Have you considered what steps you'd like to take next?" Jemma says, her tone softening. "I can make you an appointment off base if you'd like, Coulson can accompany you, or I can, or no one. If you decide to continue, you'll need a full work up, an ultrasound, fetal doppler, a whole panel of blood tests, and we'll have to talk about prenatal vitamins and what sorts of physical conditioning are appropriate in your condition."

It's like being hit with a wall of words when she can barely process the flashing green light on whatever machine Jemma put her blood into. 

"Sorry."

"Take your time. This is reading your human chorionic gonadotropin levels, which is only released while you're pregnant. A normal level is quite low without an active pregnancy, yours is well over one hundred thousand units, which is a strong positive. Most likely seven or eight weeks gestation. We'll need to do an ultrasound to be sure."

That's so real she slips off the chair and recovers her tea. She needs Phil. He'd know what to say. 

Jemma's hand touches her shoulder. "You don't have to decide now."

"We- I- decided the moment he said something, I just, I'm not sure I can say it yet."

"Okay, so, I'll just take the prenatal vitamins out of the cabinet and set them on the counter, and you can take them if you'd like, and if you don't take them, I'll email you the information for way to go off base. That way you don't have to say anything. We don't have to have a record of this conversation and no one needs to know." She turns, taking a plastic bottle out of the cabinet.

Melinda takes it out of her hand, then hugs her, very tight. "Thank you."

"I'm taking this as a yes."

Nodding, Melinda holds onto her because it's easier not to speak. 

"Then let me congratulate you, and Coulson, because this is wonderful." 

That's not the word she'd use. The first words in her head are completely inappropriate. 

When she finally releases Jemma, confident for the moment that she's not going to cry, Phil's standing there, coffee in hand.

"Hey, honey, thanks for starting the coffee."

Jemma's eyes soften and her smile brightens a little more. "Good morning."

"Hi Jemma."

"I was just completing Agent May's blood test."

"Positive?"

"Yes, very much so."

"Told you."

Melinda reaches out and he's there, holding her hand a moment later. 

"Did you confess our other violations of inventory management?"

"Most of them."

Jemma stares at them both, looking from their clasped hands and positively melting when Phil kisses Melinda's forehead. 

"Oh." She takes a moment to compose herself, then points them at her computer screen. "May I offer my congratulations."

"Thank you." Melinda says, staring at the screen. 

Phil leans in, lips brushing her ear. "So we're--"

She nods, and he kisses her cheek.

"I'm so glad."

She shuts her eyes, because it hurts to keep them open. There's no way to prepare herself for this, no words she can find in her head. They both stare at her with such obvious affection in their eyes that she aches. 

Jemma hugs Phil, wrapping her arms around his neck and making this little sound of joy that just makes Melinda's heart ache. 

"You're going to be such adorable parents, I can already picture it."

Everyone but her can, apparently, because Bobbi walks by the lab to get coffee and then she's there, laughing and hugging. Daisy nearly tackles them with her enthusiasm in the hallway, Fitz can't stop blushing, Yo-Yo's never smiled so much, Mack just wants to keep hugging them and even Hunter gets in on it, kissing her cheek.

She ends up in the stockroom, because no one's supposed to be there, and she shuts the door, standing there with the light off to catch her breath. 

When she flicks it on, Phil's there, hands in his pockets. "Hey."

"Hey."

And then they kiss, and maybe it's all right. Maybe a little juvenile romance was just what she needed. 


End file.
